


A Sunhill Christmas Carol

by Sioux



Category: The Bill
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-28
Updated: 2012-03-28
Packaged: 2017-11-02 15:53:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/370723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sioux/pseuds/Sioux





	A Sunhill Christmas Carol

"Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the way…"  
Craig stiffened in his seat at the sound coming from the holding cells.  
"Name?" he asked the swaying, drunken office worker in front of him.  
"I dun hav ta gie ya ma name!" the drunk enunciated none too clearly. "I shou, shou, shouldn't be here, I've dun nuthin' wrang!" he finally managed to get out.  
"You are charged with being drunk and disorderly, sir, now what is your name?"  
"Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the way…."  
Craig clenched his fists wishing either the idiot in cell six would fall asleep or learn another verse of that damned song. He'd been chanting the same line since he'd been processed, hours ago. It was getting wearing.  
He again addressed the man before him.  
"Your name sir?"  
In the few seconds where Craig’s concentration had wavered the man had turned a strange colour.  
"PC Lynch . . .," he started to shout, but was too late as the drunk vomited, copiously, all over the floor of the custody suite.  
Craig wondered if he would ever get the sour smell of second hand alcohol out of his hair and uniform.  
"Sarge?"  
"Mop and bucket, please, PC Lynch, clean that mess up and get him in cell four until he's sober enough to talk."  
"Yes Sarge, where's the mop?"  
"In there," he jerked his head towards the holding area. "Where it's been all bloody day!" he added under his breath  
"Sergeant Gilmore, can I have a word please?" Inspector Collis shouted across the custody suite. "Soon as you like."  
"Yes, Sir," he replied dutifully. "Timson, take over for a few minutes?" he asked the PC on duty with him.  
Timson looked at the queue of prisoners waiting to be processed and sighed, her big blue eyes looking daggers at Gilmore.  
"I'll be as quick as I can!" he snapped.  
"Sarge," she replied.  
He wondered how she managed to put so much reproach and hurt into one word.  
Leaving the bedlam which was the custody suite, he made his way to Inspector Collis' office.  
Knocking once he entered.  
"Ah, Gilmore. Look we're four men down on the shift. Can you stay a little longer after your shift?"  
Craig drew in a deep breath, feeling the hackles on his neck rise.  
"Sir!" he said, sulkily. "I'm already staying longer after my shift has ended."  
"What?"  
"I was on the six two shift, not the two ten," he explained for the third time.  
"Oh, oh, so you are. My mistake. Well, can you finish processing the prisoners downstairs and then you can go?"  
"Yes, Sir," he replied sweetly, thinking, if you and the DCI keep off my back and don't keep dragging me away I could have done that hours back. This prosy old fool should have been pensioned off years ago.  
He stomped back down to the custody suite and joined PC Timson. Just as he got back behind the desk, his mobile phone rang.  
"Craig!" a jolly Gina Gold carolled at him. "Get your coat on and your arse down here to the Linden Tree, we're all having a Christmas drink."  
And have been for some time by the sounds of you, he thought sourly.  
"Sorry Gina, I'm busy."  
""Busy doing what?" she wanted to know.  
"Working!"  
"You got off shift three hours ago."  
"No, you got off shift three hours ago, we're four men down over here and I'm still working."  
"Get that silly old fool Collis in, get him doing some useful work before he's put out to grass."  
"He is in, and I sincerely wish he weren't."  
Gina laughed out loud.  
"Well when are you getting out Craig?"  
"I haven't a clue, Gina, and to be perfectly frank I am not in the mood for sitting in a pub with a load more abusive drunks, especially abusive, drunk, coppers!"  
"'Scuse me!"  
"You're excused," he snapped, cutting the connection.  
"Next!" he bellowed across the room, his head thumping in time with the same murdered verse of 'Jingle Bells' issuing from the holding area.

Tired and dispirited after working a twelve-hour shift, Craig eventually pushed open his front door, collected the post from the mat and switched the hall light on, wincing when it increased the pain in his head. His answer machine was flashing that he had a message but he ignored it. He hung his jacket on the coat stand, dumped the post on the hall table near the answer machine and went into the kitchen. He hadn't been quite truthful with Gina, he did want a drink, he just didn’t want to have to be sociable with it. He knew Gina meant well but he wasn't in the mood for well meaning friends at the moment. In fact he wasn't really in the mood for any kind of friend, casual acquaintance or pick-up. Frustration gnawed at him as it had done for months, but he ignored that too. He knew he should really have gone to the gym on the way home and worked himself into a physically tired state rather than just a mentally exhausted one, that way he could sleep well. Well, if he wasn't physically tired, there was always chemical help to get him to sleep. He opened a bottle of bone dry, very chilled, white wine and slopped some into a large glass. Toasting the cooker in his cool, and blessedly quiet kitchen, he knocked back half the glass in one. The cold headache it gave him joined forces with the tension headache he'd had all day. Cheerfully he popped a couple of painkillers, washing them down with more wine. Not sensible, but he was sick of being sensible. Then again, sensible didn't silently rant and rail because he couldn't join the gathering of his family clan in Wales over the holiday as they were short staffed at work. He refilled his glass and plodded upstairs to run a hot bath.

Half an hour later, with an empty glass, wrinkled fingers and toes and a growling stomach Craig felt marginally more human. He dried himself, put his robe on and wandered downstairs to cook something for dinner. He dug around in the freezer extracting a fish pie and a bag of mixed vegetables. Setting them onto to cook, he got another glass and went to sit in the lounge.  
He hadn't bothered with Christmas decorations this year because he was expecting to be in Wales, now the lack made his little house look cold and bare in contrast with the rest of the cul-de-sac. It made him look like a class one Scrooge as well as feeling like one. He flicked on the TV and surfed through the channels until he found something with a non-Christmas theme to watch. Twenty minutes later the muffled sound of his mobile phone ringing jerked him out of his concentration on the dynastic lines of Ancient Egyptian Pharaohs. Letting his head fall against the back of the settee he briefly prayed to whatever god was listening that it wasn't work calling him back in.  
He rescued the phone from the depths of his jacket pocket. The number was one he didn't recognise, so hopefully it wasn't the nick.  
“Gilmore!”  
There was silence on the other end before a quiet voice said,  
“Craig.”  
Gilmore’s heart and stomach changed places, his breath hitched in his throat. It couldn't be.  
He hadn't seen or heard from Luke since he had been hospitalised. Gina had passed on the edited highlights of the ensuing months, after they had made up, but he'd not had any contact with Luke or Kerry. He was silent so long, thinking, that Luke asked,  
“Craig? Are you still there?”  
"What do you want and how did you get this number?" Craig asked sharply.  
Craig had made sure to change his mobile phone number when he transferred after his beating.  
His headache increased, he could feel the pain pounding in time with his heartbeat as his blood pressure rose.  
"I wanted to apologise Craig. For all the terrible things I did to you and how I treated you. I really want to say sorry for helping Gina to force you to lie to Kerry when you were in the hospital…."  
"Are you drunk?" Craig interrupted.  
"N. . .no."  
"Then why feel the need to apologise now? You haven't spoken to me since I was in hospital lying through my teeth for you, nearly a year ago."  
"I…I feel so guilty about it. I need some kind of closure."  
"You need closure?" Craig bellowed into the telephone. "What about me? What about my need for closure? Or don't I count? You selfish, self-centred prick!"  
Craig jabbed his thumb at the disconnect button as hard as he could, but it still didn’t give the same satisfaction as slamming down a land line telephone receiver did.  
More angry than ever he stalked into the kitchen to take his dinner out of the oven. He looked at the fish pie, gently steaming on the counter top and at the colourful mixed vegetables still in the pan. Suddenly the food didn't interest him any more, his appetite completely deserting him. He knocked back the half glass of wine left and slammed the glass down so hard on the countertop the base shattered, shards of glass cutting three of his fingers. He swore volubly as he washed the blood away under the tap. Moving more carefully now, he cleaned the cuts and put plasters on them, then cleared up the remains of the broken glass. As a final touch he put the cooling fish pie and vegetables into the bin as well, he wasn't sure if any glass had gotten into either item, but he wasn't about to take a chance on accidentally eating any.  
Forcibly calming himself he went back into the lounge, switched off the TV and the lamp then shut the door. His eye fell on the blinking message button on his answer machine. He depressed the playback button and the first message began to play.  
"Hi Craig, it's Luke…"  
With an incoherent roar of rage Craig snatched up the machine, ripping the electric plug and telephone jack plug out of wall, and threw it, with all his strength, down the hall towards the front door. It hit the toughened plastic of the door and shattered. Craig stood staring at the damage, his chest heaving. He turned and deliberately left the mess where it was and went upstairs to his bedroom. Irritably he hung his robe on the back of the bedroom door and got into bed. He punched his hapless pillow a few times, squirmed around then, eventually, he calmed down enough to fall into an uneasy sleep.

It only seemed like a few minutes later when he was awakened by the smell of something burning. He opened his eyes, the primitive survival part of his brain kicking him awake before his more civilised higher functions had had time to respond. He sniffed, recognising the smell as cigar smoke. Also the room was a lot lighter than it should have been. Blinking to clear the fog from his mind he saw a figure perched on the edge of his bed, taking a leisurely and interested look around whilst smoking a small dark cigar.  
"Mmm, nice," the slightly husky voice of Gina commented. "Then again, knew an organised poof like you would have good taste in decorating."  
"Gina?" Craig questioned, completely confused. "What are you doing here? How did you get in?"  
"I'm not really Gina."  
Craig turned to put the light on, saying,  
"You certainly look like her and you smoke like her!"  
He turned back. The woman at the end of the bed suddenly seemed to expand and grow, her dark eyes becoming black glittering holes in her face, her mouth a red sabre slash across greenish skin. The figure leaned forward and gibbered at him, waving its hands in the air on each side of its grotesque head.  
Craig started back and tried to climb through the headboard of his bed, his own eyes starting out of his face.  
"'Bet your Gina can't do that," she stated coolly, taking another drag on the cigar in her hand, her appearance now completely normal.  
Part of Craig's mind was undecided about Gina Gold's abilities to turn into a gibbering spectre, but he wisely held his tongue.  
"You can call me Gina, though.” She paused then went on, “You've been a nasty, miserable, grumpy old git today, haven't you? More than normal I mean. Not been getting any lately?"  
The rhetorical question didn't seem to require an answer so he kept silent.  
"You'd better hurry up and get dressed, you're going on a little journey."  
"He doesn’t need to get dressed on account of me," a well-known male voice stated, at the same time as the bed on his other side dipped down.  
"Hello Lover," Sean greeted him, diving in for a kiss.  
It took a few seconds for his surprise to fade enough before Craig's starved libido registered he was being kissed senseless and kicked in with an appropriate reaction. This was familiar territory for both of them. Sean slid his arms around Craig's neck, not losing the lip lock for a second as he scooted closer to Craig, lying half over him.  
Craig reached up and folded his arms around Sean's back, pressing forward against Sean’s body. Vaguely, somewhere a million miles away, he could hear someone talking but his hormones ignored the irritation for him.  
"Sean, put him down."  
There was a pause of a few seconds then,  
"Sean."  
A pause of even fewer seconds.  
"SEAN! Leave him alone!"  
The volume in the small bedroom was ear splitting. Sean pulled away from his ex-lover, a sulky expression on his handsome face.  
"Oh all right," he muttered, waving his hand in a graceful arch.  
Immediately a scene formed in the air, at first a little misty then, as if the signal had been properly tuned, it cleared.  
A sandy beach sloping down to waves lapping along a stretch of wet sand. Two young men were walking along the edge of the wet sand, following the curve of the beach as it contoured away from the town which was visible in the distance. Craig felt his robe handed to him and absently put it on. He looked down and saw he was sitting on the dry sand, Sean's warm body draped over him from behind with Gina just in front of them. Craig could even smell the salty ozone tang in the air.  
As the two men came closer their features resolved. They were young, though the younger was tall for his age.  
"You were a handsome devil even then," Sean whispered to him following it up with a kiss to his cheek.  
Craig was totally caught up with the memory being played out in front of him. He remembered this day.  
"It's the twenty seventh of December, nineteen eighty four. You're a couple of months shy of your fifteenth birthday, but you already know you're gay," Sean said softly. "The other boy is seventeen, Keith Hampson. He's an English cousin of Tommy Edwards from the town. He's down here with the rest of his family for the Christmas break."  
Craig watched as the two boys got nearer. He could see his fourteen-year-old self looking up at Keith with absolute hero worship in his eyes. Keith was laughing with him and subtly nudging him towards the dry sand at the top end of the beach which was also out of sight of any of the houses. It was a little more sheltered there too. Keith threw himself down on the sand, young Craig following suit. They were both silent now. Young Craig was nervous, not sure if he was reading the situation right. Keith was more relaxed, the controlling influence here. He was more at home in his own skin. Keith reached over and brushed a strand of hair out of his eyes, which also allowed him to lean forward. Leaning closer, giving young Craig ample time to turn away if he wanted, he kissed Craig's lips.  
"Your first gay kiss from your first gay boyfriend," Sean whispered.  
Young Craig was responding feverishly with inexpert kisses in the hold of heated hormones with the added frisson of the forbidden and the exciting danger of discovery thrown in. A heady mix. Keith was pressing him down in the sand, his hands roaming over the young firm body in his arms.  
"Four days later, he feeds you cider and then seduces you during a party at Dave Green's house. He tells everyone you're feeling a bit sick before he takes you outside and into the shed at the bottom of the garden. He makes love to you on an old sleeping bag in the shed. You can’t get enough of each other."  
A gentle smile was playing over the older Craig's face. He had believed he was in love with Keith but Keith had returned to Manchester with his family, after New Year's Day. They had written to each other a few times but gradually they had lost touch with one another over the years. Slowly the scene faded.  
"He still thinks of you, every now and then, you know," Sean said. "He wonders what happened to you after you left Wales and what you're doing now."  
"What has Keith got to do with anything? That was a long time ago. You're not trying to tell me I should have stayed with him?"  
Gina snorted, Sean laughed.  
"No," he said, "But that was the kind of relationship you got fixated upon; no huge highs, no, in the depths, lows, just a straight line of consistent emotions. When you do get highs and lows and disruptions you consciously think that's bad; you don't know how to handle the extreme emotions, or the men who cause them, but subconsciously you're attracted to that sort of man. Me, Carl, Luke…"  
Sean took a breath, preparing to continue his lecture but Gina leaned across and gave him a sharp push off the bed.  
"Oww!" Sean yelled indignantly getting up off the floor rubbing his rear end. "There was no call for that!"  
"He goes on a bit, doesn't he?" Gina said waving someone else forward.  
Craig groaned when he saw the second man loping towards him.  
"'Allo! Could always make you moan, couldn't I?" Carl stated, in his usual exuberant manner. Though he was talking to Craig he was giving Sean the once over, paying particular attention to where his hand was rubbing.  
Craig got up decisively from his bed, belting his robe more tightly around himself, he made to try and get past Gina and out of this madhouse. Gina reached out and held onto his arm as Carl came forward and slung an arm around his shoulders. Recognising when he was beaten, Craig stopped and said,  
"You're looking better, where's the chair?"  
Carl raised his eyebrows.  
"Oh, I get it. You're not really Carl either, just like he's probably not really Sean."  
"Just the essence of Carl, how he should be. No chair and sexy as hell!" he finished with a lift of eyebrows; then, before either Gina or Craig could react, he homed in for a breath stealing, toe curling kiss, which stopped abruptly when Gina, deciding to go for the direct approach this time, punched him in the ribs, hard.  
"Ow!" Carl shouted, jumping back out of range.  
"You can look but don't touch. I warned you two before we started this!" Gina said in her best Inspector's voice.  
"This is no fun!" he complained bitterly, making a wide detour around Gina and moving back towards where Sean was slumped against the bedroom wall near the door. "Come on then, let's get on with it," he grumbled, waving a hand to begin the next collage of scenes.

Luke was sitting in a padded chair opposite an older, grey haired man who wore a kindly expression. The older man had a folder opened on his lap and a pen in his hand.  
The sight of Luke hit Craig in the guts like a physical blow. Whilst he looked well and healthy there was an indefinable air of sadness about him. He was speaking, though not looking at the older man.  
"Yes, I was jealous."  
"Of whom?"  
Luke paused to think before replying.  
"Carl. I was jealous of Carl. At school he was always pretty open about his sexuality. He was always so comfortable and confident about himself. He was also as hard as nails and could fight his corner, that's why he was accepted for what he was."  
"And you felt you weren't?"  
"Not really, no. I'm not really comfortable being gay. I could sense some of that from Craig as well."  
"You think Craig wasn't happy with his sexuality?"  
"Not unhappy. Almost…resigned. As if he had accepted he couldn't change and was making the best of it, whilst Carl positively rejoiced in it."  
"It may just be a difference in personalities."  
Luke half smiled. "Or me projecting onto Craig."  
The older man smiled but didn't answer.  
Luke seemed to look inside himself before continuing.  
"When I found out Craig was seeing Carl my heart sank. Carl was such a devious, two faced git, even at school and Craig was so straight down the line. I knew he'd be trouble for him…."  
The sound seemed to fade away just as Craig was getting interested in listening to what Luke had to say.  
A forced cough, of parade ground volume, from Gina failed to grab Carl's attention. He was currently pressed close to Sean, almost plastered to the front of his body, flirting heavily. Sean was laughing softly, his hands resting on Carl's hips, his face lit up.  
"Oh for God's sake!" Gina growled. "I might as well do this myself."  
She put her cigar in her mouth, narrowing her eyes against the smoke, and clapped her hands loudly. Carl and Sean immediately shimmered out of view.  
Quite clearly Carl's voice floated back to them.  
"You old witch!"  
Gina loftily ignored him.  
"Hope the sex was worth the attitude," she said, looking Craig in the face and plainly waiting for an enlightening response.  
Craig raised his eyebrows, vouchsafing no reply.  
"Wouldn't you like to know, darlin'?" Carl replied. Innuendo clear in every word. A Sean flavoured giggle followed out of the darkness. Craig found one side of his mouth quirking up in a half smile at his tone.  
Glaring in the direction of the voices, Gina snapped her fingers, procuring immediate silence; then turning back to the now silent image of Luke, waved her hand.  
He was still sitting in the chair but now looking down at his hands, nervously twisting in his lap.  
"You've already said, many times, your guilt is associated with your behaviour towards Sergeant Gilmore before, during and after your brief affair with him. Making an apology would go someway towards lifting that guilt."  
"He won't forgive me. Why should he? I put him through sheer Hell."  
The man smiled.  
"I didn't say he would forgive you, I said you need to apologise and begin to forgive yourself. You could well be correct, Sergeant Gilmore may not be able to forgive you."  
A soft tone sounded, bringing Luke to his feet, a look of profound thankfulness on his face.  
"Think about it Luke," the man said, holding out his hand.  
Luke shook his hand but didn’t reply.  
"On your way out make an appointment with my secretary for six weeks time."  
"Six weeks?"  
"Christmas."  
"Ah, of course."  
The picture faded, plunging his bedroom back into half-light.  
"When was that?" Craig asked.  
"Nearly three weeks ago," Gina replied drawing deeply on her cigar.  
"Did you give him my mobile number?"  
"No, he broke into the personnel system and looked it up."  
"Why now? Nearly a year since he spoke to me and three weeks since he spoke with… who, a psychiatrist?"  
"Police counsellor. It's taken him that long to work up the courage to ring," she replied.  
Craig looked down at his folded arms and didn't say anything.  
Gina waved her hand again. This time they appeared to be standing at the edge of the dance floor in a nightclub. No one else seemed to be able to see them. Luke was dancing with a sweet-faced young man. They had obviously been dancing together for a while. Both their faces were shiny with perspiration, their shirts darkened with moisture.  
"Luke's just met him. He knows him as Dave, but his real name is Andrew Woolcar."  
Craig shrugged, not everyone gave their real names in gay clubs. He glanced at Gina then back at Luke and Dave who were now kissing passionately on the dance floor, clinging to each other, trying to crawl into each other's skin, oblivious of the catcalls from all sides.  
"Luke is upset. He finally plucked up the courage to ring someone he should have been talking to for a long time. But that person shouted at him. He was more hurt and upset by that than he thought he could be. He desperately wants someone to love but failing that he'll make do with uncomplicated sex," Gina went on. "Any one will do at the moment. Unfortunately he's found Andrew and Andrew is a very angry young man. He's twenty-three years old and knows he's dying. He's always been very careful, used protection, except for a couple of occasions when he was too drunk to get the condom on properly. His doctor told him on Monday that he has full blown AIDS. He doesn't know who infected him but he wants to take as many promiscuous young men with him as he can. Between now and the end of January, Andrew will set his own mini epidemic going, until he's caught and stopped."  
"Luke?" Craig asked quickly.  
"Luke gets his viral time bomb later on tonight. Andrew has a supply of doctored condoms with him, they'll use one of those."  
Craig turned to look, in horror, at Gina. She didn't appear to pay any attention to him.  
"If you'd spoken to him this evening, instead of taking out your bad temper on him, he would have spent a reasonably cheerful couple of hours talking to you. He would never have gone out clubbing to drown his woes and assuage his loneliness."  
"You can't blame me for this!"  
"Why not?"  
Gina waved her hand again, and the scene moved on. Images of Luke in uniform, the season of springtime, he was sneezing, his nose red, he obviously had a bad cold.  
"That's his body trying desperately to fight the initial onslaught of the virus, before his immune system and his brain are attacked."  
Another image of Luke in summer, coughing badly. Autumn time saw him in a hospital bed on intravenous drips.  
"He has an abscess in his brain at this point. Not life threatening but not pleasant either."  
The next images were of Luke shivering in the cold in a snowbound London, his ears red under his police helmet, then on into another spring, where it was warm enough for him to be on patrol in a short-sleeved uniform shirt and stab vest. He looked pretty well.  
Summer showed him sitting in a garden chair, dressed in a thick, winter weight, pullover and jeans. His face and hands were thinner and his skin pale. The next image was the most distressing; leaves blowing past a ground floor flat window. There was a bed, half made up, in the corner of the room. The room itself smelt over warm with the distinct acrid tinge of urine in the air. Luke was now painfully thin, the skin on his face seemed to be stretched tight over sharp bones. He was shuffling carefully, like a brittle boned octogenarian, from the direction of the bed to the chair by the gas fire. A bruise, several days old, across his left cheekbone accentuated his pallor. A larger man was helping him sit in the chair, which had a small table beside it filled with odds and ends including a box of tissues and a child's feeding cup. The man got Luke settled and dabbed, ineffectually, at a wet stain on the front of Luke’s pullover. He crouched down in front of Luke then picked up the feeding mug and guided Luke's hands around it then gently pushed it towards Luke's mouth.  
Luke's expressive brown eyes were lifeless. Craig couldn't hear what was being said but the man seemed to be talking to Luke and encouraging him to keep drinking. Luke took two huge gulps of the liquid from the mug then stopped, as if he had forgotten what he was doing. The man pushed the mug against his lips again. Something, possibly a noise, made the man look towards the door. He patted Luke's face, said something to him then got up and left the room. As soon as his guiding hands disappeared, the position of the mug shifted. Luke was still drawing the liquid into his mouth but instead of swallowing it was dribbling out, down his chin and soaking the front of his pullover, the large, tea coloured stain getting bigger.  
The man came back holding a handful of post; then he saw the mess Luke was making and threw the letters down. Angrily striding forward he slapped Luke hard across his face, sending the mug flying. The top came off releasing the rest of the lukewarm tea in an arc across the floor.  
Craig took an involuntary step forward, trying to step into Luke's nightmare world to go to his aid.  
The man was now kneeling on the floor crying hard, one hand across his mouth, the other holding on tight to the chair arm.  
Slowly Luke straightened up in the chair, his eyes filling with tears as he took in the stains and felt the warm wet tea soaking into his clothes, the chair and the carpet. Uncertainly he reached out to the man. Craig could lip read Luke's words as the man buried his head in Luke's lap, his shoulders shaking with hopeless, helpless sobs.  
"Sorry. I'm sorry."  
"He's apologising! Why is he apologising to the bloke who's abusing him?" Craig cried out.  
Gina blew smoke out slowly through her nose, her face quite expressionless.  
"The man is Simon Ford. He's usually the most kind and compassionate of men."  
"Kind?"  
"Luke has severe dementia. Simon has had to change Luke's clothes three times already this morning. It’s a bad day. Luke has wet himself twice and had a bowel movement. Simon’s been trying to coax a cup of liquid into Luke for over five hours. Luke forgets to drink and becomes dehydrated, making his condition worse. Simon's tired because he works nights to get some money in and he looks after Luke all day. He's at the end of his strength."  
"Dementia?"  
"One of the possible manifestations of full blown AIDS. Luke generally doesn't even know his own name. A lot of AIDS patients with dementia get battered by their boyfriends. It's tough looking after someone who is more helpless than a child and continues to get worse every day."  
Craig closed his eyes against the picture Gina was painting for him.  
"How long?" he asked.  
"How long what?"  
"How long does he have to live like that?"  
"Well those were about the last lucid few seconds he had," Gina replied calmly. "In six days time Simon will collapse with exhaustion, making it a necessity that Luke is taken into care to give Simon a chance to recover. Unfortunately the only home which can take him is understaffed and those there are over worked. Luke will contract static pneumonia at the home, it's misdiagnosed and he will pass away three weeks after he is taken into care. Simon will blame himself for the rest of his life. Luke's mother will feel so guilty about being unable to look after her terminally ill son she will outlive him for less than a year."  
Matter-of-factly Gina picked up a tissue from the box at Craig's bedside and handed it to him. Craig wiped the tears which had begun to stream down his face as he had witnessed Luke's unhappy end.  
"Please say this is all just a bad dream," he pleaded his voice hardly above a whisper.  
Gina took a long drag from her cigar.  
"That's up to you Gilmore,” she said smartly. “That's up to you."  
As she said the words, Craig felt his world tipping sideways. In panic he reached out for Gina but she stepped back, out of his way.  
"Gina, please!"  
Suddenly blackness descended. The last thing Craig remembered was the floor rushing up to meet him.

Breathing hard Craig awoke in his bed. Hurriedly he leaned over and switched the bedside light on. Tears were still wet on his cheeks and he'd been sweating too. Feeling very disorientated he looked around his bedroom then decided to get up. Throwing back the bedclothes, he padded across to the door, picking his robe up from the hook there as he passed.  
The remains of his answer machine reproached him from behind the front door. Automatically he fetched dustpan and brush and cleared it away.  
His fingers ached from where he'd cut them on the glass and his head felt like it was stuffed with cotton wool. Glancing at the kitchen clock he saw it was twenty minutes to eleven. He'd been asleep for less than two hours but what a couple of hours.  
He made his way into his lounge, picking up his mobile phone from the hall table. Nervous and undecided he checked the list of 'received calls'. The number at the top of the list wasn't one he knew. Biting his lip then abandoning that in favour of grinding his teeth, he debated with himself. He wasn't sure he believed in a deity, let alone ghosts and ghouls but the possible future disclosed in the dream or vision or whatever it was, wasn't something he would wish on his worst enemy, let alone an ex-lover.  
He selected the number and pressed the key to dial. It rang a couple of times then Luke's disbelieving voice answered.  
"Craig? Is that you?"  
"Umm, yeah, it's me."  
A silence descended. In the background Craig could hear loud, muffled music.  
"Are you OK Craig?"  
"Er, yeah. Look, I just wanted to apologise for when you rang before. I'd had a bad day and I had no right to take it out on you like I did."  
"It's OK, Craig."  
"No, it isn't OK Luke. It was a shoddy thing to do to someone who was trying to apologise to me."  
"We can't talk about this on the 'phone. Do you want to come out for a drink?"  
"The pubs close in fifteen minutes Luke and I'm not really a club person. Do you, erm," he cleared his throat. "Would you like to come here? I've got some wine in."  
There was a pregnant pause before Luke replied shyly,  
"Thanks Craig. I'd like that. It'll take me about half and hour to get there though. You're not on earlies are you?"  
"No, I've got tomorrow off. What about you?"  
"I'm off as well."  
"Where are you?"  
"I was just about to go into a club."  
"Oh! Well, I mean if you’d …."  
"I’d rather have a drink with you, Craig," Luke said softly, cutting him short.  
Craig smiled. "I'll see you soon, then."  
"See you soon."  
Craig cut the connection but carried on smiling, staring into nothing. The Luke who was coming round for a glass of wine sounded to be a much more mature one than the young man he'd last gazed on from his hospital bed.  
Stirring himself he bustled about tidying the room, which was tidy already then he decided he'd better have a quick shower and get dressed again. He had only just pulled on a thin Shetland wool pullover and jeans when the doorbell went. Dragging a comb through his wet hair he bounded down the stairs, in bare feet, to open the door.  
They stared at each other for the space of a few seconds, each doing a lightening fast assessment of the other.  
Luke looked older than Craig expected. No, not older, more mature, he amended to himself.  
Luke thought the simple clothing, wet hair and bare feet made Craig look younger than when he was in uniform.  
"Hi," Luke said quietly.  
"Hello. Come in," Craig invited; standing aside as Luke brushed passed him.  
He took Luke's jacket and hung it up, directing Luke to the lounge, then grabbed two glasses from the kitchen and opened another bottle of wine.  
Smiling he handed a glass to Luke then went and sat in an armchair at the furthest point away from Luke that he could.  
Luke had been looking around the room whilst Craig was in the kitchen.  
"Thank you," he said. "This looks a bit different from when you moved in."  
Craig smiled as he said, "Yeah, well a place never looks at its best when you're moving in."  
"I saw Sean a few weeks ago," Luke volunteered, taking a sip of wine. "Or rather I thought it was Sean."  
"Where? I thought Sean had moved away," Craig replied, not comfortable with the subject.  
"Believe it or not, he was wheeling Carl into the physiotherapy unit at Castlefields’ Day Care Centre…."  
The rest of his comments were lost as the glass in Craig's hand shattered when he involuntarily tightened his hold on it on hearing Sean and Carl mentioned in the same breath. Blood and wine spilled over his jeans, the chair and the floor. Craig got up quickly shaking his hand.  
"Don't do that!" Luke ordered, picking up a handful of tissues from the box on the table and using them to support the back of Craig's injured hand.  
Taking complete charge he guided Craig into the kitchen and put his hand under the tap so he could see the cuts.  
"That's what I missed doing MSF, a tap with clean running water would have made life easier."  
Gently he tilted Craig's hand.  
"I don't think any glass got in there. Can you feel anything, any pricking sensation?"  
Gingerly Craig curled his fingers, blood immediately welled up again but there wasn't any sensation of glass cutting in deeper.  
"No, I think it's alright."  
"Where do you keep your first aid stuff?"  
Craig nodded to the cupboard above Luke's head. Luke gathered his supplies, putting them on the kitchen table he began to dress the cuts across Craig's hand, keeping up a gentle flow of conversation about his first-aid exploits with Medicine Sans Frontier.  
It was quite soothing sitting on the chair being tended by Luke. The house was quiet, Luke was gentle and it seemed to Craig like both were in a little cocoon, outside time. A place where past and future didn't exist, there was only the present.

Luke refilled his own glass then got another one for Craig. He noticed the wince and then the plasters on Craig's other hand as he tried to pick up the glass.  
"What did you do?"  
Craig looked down at the table, a tell tale smudge of colour spreading across his cheekbones.  
"Ummm, smashed a wineglass," he finally admitted.  
"Tonight?"  
Craig nodded. "Just after you rang me on my mobile."  
Luke's eyes became bright and he bit his lip in an effort not to laugh. Meeting the wry expression in Craig's eyes was his undoing.  
"Oh Craig, you've not had much luck tonight, have you?" he asked, laughing.  
Craig was laughing too, but abruptly sobered, seeing a picture of the thin, frail young man, overlaying the fit and healthy face before him. "I wouldn't say that," he replied quietly.  
If getting both hands cut meant it had prevented this young man from dying a premature and painful death, Craig would have considered it a bargain at twice the price.  
Luke tried to look beyond the shadowed depths in Craig's eyes, wondering what he was thinking.  
"So just to finish off a really good day, you're getting bored to death in your own kitchen hearing me go on about me, at, crumbs after four in the morning!" Luke said, trying for a lighter tone. "I should really be going."  
The hand, which Luke had been unconsciously stroking for hours, tightened around his.  
"Are you doing your last minute shopping today?" Craig asked trying to prolong the visit.  
Luke shook his head. "No. Got all I intend to buy."  
Craig nodded. "You going to your Mum's for Christmas dinner?"  
"Nah. Probably end up working late, and working shifts makes it difficult to fit in with everyone else. You going back to Wales?"  
"No, working, same as you."  
"On earlies Christmas Day and Boxing Day?"  
Craig nodded again.  
"Right." Luke was silent for a beat, wondering how far he dare push Craig. "If we're both on the same shift, do you fancy coming around to mine for something to eat tomorrow?" he asked with his eyes cast down.  
"Full Christmas Dinner?"  
"Might manage chicken and some frozen roasties and maybe a Christmas pud," he replied, looking back up at Craig. "Do you really want all the trimmings?" Luke looked very worried.  
Craig shook his head. "I'll let you into a secret, I hate Christmas pud and mince pies!"  
Luke's eyes were shining with merriment.  
"So do I! I'd prefer saving myself for a decent piece of stilton…."  
"And a glass of port," Craig finished, grinning.  
"You coming round then?"  
"You sure?"  
"Positive. If you're up for it, we could even go shopping at the twenty-four hour Sainsbury's behind the Plaza, it's not too far from my flat."  
Craig wasn't used to making off the cuff decisions about his life. He hesitated for a little too long.  
"I'm sorry," Luke apologised. "It was a stupid suggestion, you must be tired."  
"Yeah, I am. Hang on, I'll get my shoes." He shot off out of the kitchen and upstairs. Three minutes later he was back, stowing his wallet in his jacket pocket and picking up his mobile phone.  
Luke was completely bemused. At the back of his mind he was wondering where the pod had been hidden; this wonderfully impulsive behaviour didn't belong to the Sergeant Gilmore he knew. Not that he was about to object. He grabbed his jacket from the coat stand, knocking one of the unopened cards from the pile of post, in his haste to follow Craig. He picked up the card, absently noticing the return name and address on the back; Keith Hampson, East Didsbury, Manchester. Must be from one of his old pals from the North, he thought. The sound of the front door opening recalled him to the here and now.  
"We can catch the 221 from the bottom of the road, it stops right outside the store," Luke said, following Craig out of the house.

Even at five in the morning the supermarket was quite busy.  
"Imagine what it's going to be like later on," Craig said in mock horror, observing the ruthlessly intent shoppers.  
Luke dragged a shopping cart over for their use.  
"That’s when all the little old ladies come out with their elbows sharpened by years of use in the January Sales; we'd never make it out alive."  
Craig sniggered and followed Luke down the first aisle.

Laughing, joking and talking, finding likes and dislikes in common, they finally bought enough food for several people then persuaded a bored cabbie to drop them off at Luke's flat for a tenner as he was going off duty. It was easier than carrying the bags between them.

Luke's flat was small, but he had made an effort with the decorations. A small tree sat in the corner of the lounge draped in tinsel and lights. He'd been creative with tinsel across shelves and a wreath at the door as well. It was more than Craig had bothered to do. It certainly gave the flat a more homely and warmer feel.  
They transferred the carrier bags to the kitchen and together put the food away under Luke's directions. Luke sighed as the last empty carrier bag was binned.  
"Want a coffee?" Luke asked.  
Craig knew he should really be going, but, against his better judgement, he agreed. They stood in the kitchen drinking hot coffee and devouring bacon sandwiches. It was light outside by the time they had finished and Craig knew he really should be getting home.  
"I'd better be off," Craig said into a sudden silence.  
"Yeah. OK, I'll get your coat," Luke said awkwardly.  
Luke returned with his jacket, handing it to him slowly.  
"I'll see you Christmas Day, after work," Craig said, shrugging himself into the garment.  
"Yeah. Christmas Day." Suddenly, thirty-two hours ahead seemed like forever. "I've really enjoyed tonight, I mean this morning, Craig, thanks," Luke stammered.  
"So, you do like me," Craig quipped, striding across to the front door, wanting to take that sad look off Luke's face.  
Luke swallowed hard.  
"Like you? I can't take my eyes off you."  
Both men froze, Craig in the act of opening the front door, Luke looking up into Craig's eyes.  
"Stay," Luke breathed, not daring to touch Craig.  
Craig looked into his hopeful eyes. He shouldn't even consider doing this. His heart was going to get broken, again. Luke was still finding his way through the minefield of his sexuality. Tomorrow, or the day after, Luke might change his mind and eviscerate him again. He licked his dry lips trying to make the correct and logical judgement call in this situation. Then he thought to himself, logic be damned.  
He nodded and pushed the door shut.


End file.
